Knight's Dawn
by immertreu
Summary: 1/3 Prequel to "Testing Boundaries": Takes place three days after the ending of The Dark Knight. Bruce yields to despair and Alfred turns to Jim Gordon for help.
1. Prologue and Chapter 1

**Knight's Dawn**

by immertreu

December 16, 2008

* * *

**Prologue**

They say the night is darkest just before the dawn. But what if dawn never comes? What if the night stretches on and on without hope of another glimpse of light? What if everything a man has ever hoped for is out of reach, lost forever?

Batman was tired. Tired of life, tired of death, tired of the darkness he had helped to create. He couldn't do this anymore.

* * *

**Chapter 1**

Jim Gordon woke with a start because his phone was ringing. Slowly regaining consciousness, he reached in the direction of his phone that was usually buried under a massive stack of files on his desk (obviously he had fallen asleep in his office again) when he realized that the ringing came from behind him. Not many people had the number of his new cell phone since his promotion to Police Commissioner three days ago, so his first thought was of Barbara and the kids. He frantically turned around and dug the cell out of his coat hanging over the back of his chair.

"Gordon?" he yelled into the little phone without checking the caller ID first.

"Commissioner Gordon, I'm so sorry to call you at this hour," a calm voice with a pleasant British accent replied. "But I need your help."

Suddenly wide awake, Jim glanced around his dark office lit only by his half buried desk lamp. The clock on the wall said two in the morning. The city outside his window was sleeping.

"Why don't we start with who you are?" he answered, carefully getting up from his chair and checking the adjacent rooms he could see through the window in his office door. They were empty. "And how did you get my number?" he added, anger creeping into his voice.

Jim didn't like surprises. Well, that wasn't entirely true, but there was only one person in this city who was allowed to surprise him on a regular basis. Batman obviously wasn't here tonight, or he would have shown himself. That was probably for the best because a building filled with cops wasn't the safest place for Gotham's #1 vigilante these days.

The person on the other end of the line drew a deep breath as if summoning strength for a difficult task and finally answered, "My name is Alfred Pennyworth. How I got your number is a little difficult to explain but, eh, well, we have a mutual friend who needs our help tonight."

That got Jim's full attention and his mind started reeling. He knew this man's name, from long ago. Did he really mean what Jim thought he meant by their _mutual friend_? It surely would explain how Mr. Pennyworth had gotten his number. But if so, why didn't the Bat call himself? Unless he was hurt.

Before he allowed his thoughts to drift any further, the voice continued.

"Please, I don't want to talk about this on the phone. We need your help."

So it was _we_ now? Jim grabbed his coat, switched off the lamp, and made his way to the door in the dark.

"Where do we meet?" he asked.

He would think about the risks afterwards.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

When Jim left the office building, he noticed an inconspicuous dark sedan parked in front. At the passenger's side stood Alfred Pennyworth, holding the door for him. Jim immediately remembered the man from one of Gotham's darkest nights more than twenty years ago when he had come to the station to claim the last surviving member of one of Gotham's finest families whose parents had just been murdered.

The man nodded politely and greeted him with his unmistakable British accent. "Commissioner."

Jim came to a halt a few steps from the open door, taking in the situation. This was not what he'd been expecting.

"You're Mister Wayne's butler!" he finally blurted out.

"Yes, sir, I am," came the calm reply. "I am sorry for the inconvenience. This is my private car, and I am afraid you'll have to be my front passenger tonight because there are only two seats. Shall we?"

The older man gestured for Jim to get into the car. He slowly sat down in the passenger's seat and waited for Mr. Pennyworth to close the door. What had he gotten himself into this time? There was no way this man knew Batman. Was there? And how had he gotten his number?

His thoughts were interrupted by a loud snap when the driver's side door opened. The butler wasted no time, took his place behind the wheel as quickly as possible, and brought the engine to life. Jim watched him for a few moments as the car pulled out into the sparse traffic in front of the GCPD building.

"Mr. Pennyworth, where are we going?" he asked.

"Please, sir, it's Alfred," he replied. "And I would rather you did not know where we are going."

The butler kept his eyes straight ahead as they headed into an outer part of town.

Jim sighed. "Well, could you at least tell me why I'm here? Your phone call suggested a mutual friend needed help. I honestly didn't expect…_this._" The Commissioner gestured, indicating the shabby warehouses and dark streets they were passing now. "Going on a trip without knowing where we're headed or what we're about to do. I thought…"

His voice trailed off. No threat emanated from Alfred, but the man obviously didn't want to tell him what was going on. Jim didn't like being kept in the dark.

"Did Mr. Wayne burn down another building?"

It was a cheap joke, and he knew it. However, Jim wasn't prepared for the angry glare that came his way from the previously friendly butler.

"What?" he asked defensively. "Don't tell me he didn't burn down his manor!"

Alfred remained silent for a while. When he finally answered, there was so much weariness in his voice that his whole body seemed to lose its previous elegant composure. Jim felt sorry for the old man and wondered what he'd said to cause the man such great pain.

"He did _not_ burn down the manor," the butler stated, ignoring Jim's surprised look. "He just sent everyone away before a madman burned it down. You may not have noticed, but Master Wayne always has a good reason for his actions. Unfortunately, I'm afraid he is not himself these days." And after a slight hesitation he added, "You might be wondering why I called you. Do you remember that night more than twenty years ago?"

Jim nodded. Alfred continued, a deep sadness in his voice. "When I entered the room that night to pick up young Master Wayne, you knelt in front of him, holding his hand and saying something I couldn't quite understand. I saw then in Master Wayne's eyes that he had faith in you, and I will never forget how he refused to let go of you when I came to take him home. He trusted you then. He trusts you still – and so do I. There was no one else to whom I could turn."

Jim pondered this for a moment and then asked, "He doesn't know you called me, does he?"

Alfred shook his head. They fell silent after that, giving Jim time to sort through his whirling thoughts. He still wasn't sure what Alfred wanted him to do or why he was being driven through the dead of night like this. That's when he realized that he hadn't seen or heard anything about Gotham's most famous billionaire in three days – not since Mr. Wayne had tried to catch the light and saved Coleman Reese's life in the process. He could still see the young man sitting in front of his wrecked Lamborghini, holding his head, oblivious to the news reports that day. The cop in Jim had felt a twinge of suspicion when he'd seen the weird wordless exchange of glances between Wayne and Reese who was exiting the van the moment Wayne looked up. Then the Joker blew up Gotham General, and in the catastrophe's aftermath, he all but forgot about the accident.

The city was mourning its losses and trying to recover after the chaos the Joker had created, but incidents like these usually didn't keep the tabloids from ferreting out some far-fetched story about the Waynes' eccentric sole heir – as distasteful as it was. There hadn't been any Batman sightings for three days either. Jim didn't like where his thoughts were going so he again tried to extract more information from his companion.

"How did you get my number?" he asked once more, not really expecting an answer and therefore shocked by Alfred's reply.

"Batman gave it to me. For emergencies only, of course, sir. Although I suspect he didn't expect me to use it like this."

Jim stared at him. "He…what? When?" he stammered.

"The day you were promoted to Police Commissioner, sir," the butler replied as if receiving secret cell phone numbers was an every day occurrence to him. Maybe it was, Jim thought. But before Jim could ask any more questions or voice his suspicions, Alfred pulled into a dark alleyway between two large warehouses. He stopped the car and held out a blindfold for Jim to see. Only kindness and worry were in the older man's eyes. Jim nodded his agreement and closed his eyes.

"I really don't wanna know where we're going, do I?" he couldn't resist asking.

"No, sir, you don't," Alfred said lightly as the butler reached over and knotted the blindfold securely behind Jim's head before they continued their drive.

After a while they stopped again. Jim listened while Alfred got out of the car. It sounded as if he opened a gate which he closed again when they had driven through.

The Police Department would kill him if they ever found out about this, Jim mused. But then, he could hardly tell them he had visited Batman, could he?

His stomach made a violent flip at the thought, and his unseeing eyes snapped open in the dark. When had he made the connection between Bruce Wayne and Batman? He shook his head in an attempt to focus. Too many sleepless nights had obviously affected his brain function.

But it was obvious, wasn't it? Who else in this city had enough money to buy all this expensive equipment Batman used without going bankrupt? Then there was this incident with Reese and the Lamborghini, and the sudden appearance of Batman at Mr. Wayne's party after the billionaire had vanished into his panic room. Mr. Wayne's butler knew Batman and had summoned him, Jim Gordon, to help a _mutual friend_. Bruce Wayne was said to trust the Commissioner although they hadn't spoken in more than twenty years following his parents' death. And finally, Batman had come to him of all cops in the city. What other reason could there be than their encounter all those years ago?

Jim shook his head in disbelief. Bruce Wayne, billionaire playboy extraordinaire, always perfectly styled, seen at every party in town, usually with two adorable women by his side and a broad smile plastered on his handsome face – could he really be Gotham's Dark Knight? It would be the perfect cover-up, wouldn't it? But how?

No, it wasn't possible. He had seen Wayne just three days ago, slim and fragile, sitting on the street, with big innocent eyes, smiling up at him. Batman was taller, stronger, bulkier, much darker – wasn't he?

It was too much for Jim, but before he could voice his thoughts, Alfred announced their arrival, stepped out of the car, and came around to help him. Carefully, they made their way over the uneven floor. It felt like rubble under Jim's feet.

"Careful now, sir, mind the step."

It sounded as if they had entered some kind of room. Their steps echoed metallically in the small, enclosed space, and a door snapped shut with a click behind them.

"You may take off the blindfold now, sir," the butler said.

Jim yanked the cloth from his head. They stood in darkness. Suddenly the floor vibrated and the bottom of the elevator – it had to be one – started its descent.

Alfred looked unperturbed in the dim light that reached them through a slit in the floor. Jim's heart raced uncontrollably.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

The moment the elevator reached the floor of the vast and brightly lit underground hall, Alfred stepped off and started towards a figure who sat slumped in the middle of the room with his back to them. Jim stared when the man sitting cross-legged raised his dark head slightly and spoke in a tone so listless that it made Jim shiver.

"Leave me alone, Alfred. I'm fine. And I definitely don't want to eat."

He didn't look fine, even from this distance, and Jim surprised himself by saying, "Maybe you should." He regretted his words immediately.

Jim had never seen such a sudden and violent reaction from any human being. The sitting man flinched so that the little object he'd been holding skittered away over the floor with a screeching sound. He jumped to his feet and spun around to face Jim with such speed that it made Jim dizzy. Bruce Wayne – and it was Bruce Wayne; there was no doubt – looked at him with dark, narrowed eyes that made Jim wish he were miles away. Wayne's hands were clenched into fists, and his whole posture looked as if he might attack at any moment.

Any lingering doubts that Bruce Wayne and Batman were one and the same vanished immediately. Jim wasn't looking at Wayne but at his alter ego. Even without the suit, there was a dark and deadly aura surrounding the man. He seemed to be perfectly balanced. The gray slacks and white t-shirt he wore couldn't hide either the muscles or the bandages covering his body. Batman's eyes seemed to pierce Jim's very soul, and the Commissioner didn't dare take a step off the elevator. He gripped the blindfold so tightly that his knuckles went white.

After a few seconds that felt like eternity, Wayne dismissed his visitor as a threat and turned towards his butler, eyes burning with fury.

"What have you done?" he rasped.

Jim flinched at the sound of Batman's voice coming from this young man's body, but Alfred stubbornly stood his ground right before of his master.

"I did what was necessary, Master Bruce," the butler answered, a steely edge in his voice.

"It wasn't your secret to reveal!" came the hot reply.

The butler didn't waver. "You may have forgotten, but there are still people who care about you," Alfred reminded him. "And I'll be damned if I'll stand by and watch you slip into darkness. I had no choice."

The old man briskly turned around and sat down in a chair close to the wall, deliberately ignoring his employer's angry glares.

Jim didn't understand what they were talking about, but freed from Wayne's piercing eyes, he suddenly broke free of his trance-like stance. For the first time since his arrival he risked to look around. He took in the cage with the bat suit to his right, the bat pod hidden in the back, the tables with momentarily dark monitors, and the many tools behind Wayne who slowly unclenched his fists. The billionaire seemed to have ended the staring contest with his unrelenting employee and unexpectedly motioned for Jim to step closer. Jim hesitated, and Wayne heaved a deep sigh.

"I'm not going to hurt you, Commissioner," he said.

This time he used his normal voice although it had nothing in common with the playboy's drawl Jim was used to hearing on television. It was a man's voice – still deep, a little gruff, but not unpleasant and with a slight lilt to it.

Jim stepped off the elevator which ascended the moment his weight had completely left the platform. Somehow he wasn't surprised by this technology. After all, this was the bat cave, wasn't it?

Legs shaking, he walked forward while Wayne – _Batman_, he reminded himself – stood there, watching and waiting for him, following his every move with observant eyes. Jim stopped a few feet away, shocked by the darkness and sorrow in the younger man's eyes. They seemed almost black in the harsh white light of the room. Wayne's usually handsome face looked haggard, and there were bruises and cuts on every visible patch of skin. The adrenaline rush was obviously vanishing rapidly, and Jim feared that the young man would pass out at any moment.

Neither of them spoke. Eventually, Jim took a deep breath and whispered, "I'm sorry. I never wanted to know."

Wayne nodded. "I know."

He sank quickly but still gracefully back to the floor, leaning his head against the table leg behind him and closing his eyes in defeat.

Jim looked to Alfred for help, but the butler motioned for him to sit down as well, so he took off his coat and used it as a blanket on the cold stone floor. He felt awkward, clumsy when he finally settled down. At the soft noise of the coat lining, Wayne opened his eyes again, a small smile tugging at his lips.

"Wouldn't want you to catch a cold down here, would we?" he murmured.

The humor in his voice didn't quite reach his eyes. Jim shivered – but not because of the cold.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

The three men sat in silence. Jim knew he was staring, but he couldn't help himself. He looked at Wayne as if seeing him for the very first time – and in a way he was. The man looked so incredibly vulnerable, it wasn't easy to bear. How could Jim have missed how young the man behind the mask must be? And how did he not see through the billionaire's disguise sooner?

_Because you believed what the tabloids wrote,_ he answered his own question.

Wayne's whole upper body was wrapped in bandages under the shirt. Inwardly, Jim flinched at the memory of Batman taking a bullet for him and falling several floors after saving his son's life only a few nights ago. How had he survived that fall? Wayne seemed to favor his left side. It showed in the way he sat on the floor, but Jim knew better than to ask _how are you_.

There were dark shadows under Wayne's eyes, and he looked as if he'd had less sleep than even Jim these past few days. His tousled hair was longer than Jim should have expected from Batman, but then he mentally kicked himself for the thought. There were no "should haves" left to think about. The proof sat right in front of him, studying him with clouded eyes. They had always seemed a light greenish brown to him before, but Jim found himself gazing into eyes that seemed to have become a very dark and unsettling brown.

Tired of the silence, Jim turned to Alfred for an answer.

"Why am I here?" he asked, a little too loud in the stillness of the underground room.

Judging by the way the beaten figure now slumped against the table, something was seriously wrong, but Jim wasn't a doctor. If Wayne needed help, they should get him to a hospital. On the other hand, the speed with which Batman had jumped up to confront the intruder who had dared to enter his hideout seemed to rule out the possibility of any life-threatening injuries.

Alfred sighed. "Look at him, sir," he implored.

Jim still didn't understand and held the old man's gaze. The butler continued, fear and sorrow written clearly onto his kind face.

"He hasn't slept or eaten in three days. He only moves when he has to. He doesn't want to speak to me; and, worst of all, he won't even listen to what I have to say. The last time I saw him like this was after his parents' murder. Then I was able to bring him back with patience, strong arms to hold him at night, warm blankets, and huge amounts of sweet food. But this time…this time, I can't do it. I can't reach him. I don't know what happened out there. I haven't seen what you have seen, and I know I will never understand all the things both of you had to do to save this city and the people you care about. But when I look at Master Wayne, I fear the sacrifices he has made this week are too great for any man to bear alone. He once told me Batman couldn't afford to know his limits, but he seems to have found them now – and Bruce Wayne's as well…"

The butler broke off and Jim was surprised to see tears glittering in Alfred's old eyes. When he looked back at Wayne, he finally understood. The billionaire hadn't moved. He simply kept staring at Jim without really seeing him now. Hidden there deep in those incredibly dark eyes was a plea for help – just like the one he had seen more than two decades ago in the eyes of a small boy on that terrible night when a bond was forged between a young cop and a terrified kid who had just become an orphan. Jim had to look away from the pitiful sight that stood in stark contrast to the imposing figure he had seen just moments before.

The meaningful silence broke when Alfred suddenly stood, pressed a hidden button on the gray wall behind him, and started walking toward the elevator.

"Where are you going?" Jim yelled, scrambling to his feet.

"I will get us some food, sir," came the brusque reply, but the butler couldn't hide his sadness. "I don't intend to stay here all night without anything to eat or drink – again." With that he stepped onto the elevator which immediately started rising to carry him back to the surface.

"Why me?" Jim asked in an attempt to stop the older man.

"Because you are his only friend" Alfred told him. "_He_ knows how to contact me."

Alfred vanished from sight. Jim sighed and turned to face the task at hand.

_I've never been good at pep talks_, he thought grimly.


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5**

While Wayne, his eyes closed, sat where he had left him, Jim took the opportunity to explore his surroundings. As far as he could tell, all the tables and even the cage where Batman's suit hung seemed to be retractable. There were probably more doors or compartments hidden in the floor or wall panels, but he couldn't detect any sign of them. The design was totally fascinating.

Ridiculously flattered by the faith the old butler had shown in him by leaving him alone with his charge and the best-kept secrets in Gotham City, Jim continued his investigation of the Bat Cave. He stopped in front of the bat suit and gazed into the empty eyes of the cowl. Alfred had called him Wayne's friend, but he didn't know this man. Or did he? A few hours ago he would have called himself Batman's friend, but he didn't know what to think anymore. The man behind the mask wasn't what he had imagined. But then, how could he be? Jim had never really dared to think about the man who wore the suit. He had blocked all the signals and hints which might have led to the real Batman from his mind.

Jim had told the truth when he said he had never wanted to know. Batman was a symbol, Gotham's Dark Knight. Acknowledging his humanity would have betrayed Batman's trust. But now Jim felt foolish for never trying to solve the puzzle. No man could do the things Batman had done without a real friend. No one should be allowed to bear this burden alone. Sure, he now knew that Batman hadn't been totally alone, but an elderly butler and father figure could hardly compensate for the darkness and horrors Wayne faced every night. He needed someone who understood the things he had seen. Jim plucked his glasses off his nose and absent-mindedly began cleaning the lenses with his shirt sleeve.

His parents' death had given Wayne's life a direction that no one could have foreseen. He had sacrificed his life, his chance of ever having a family of his own. He had tried everything in his powers to rid the city he loved of evil. And how did they thank him? Batman had become Gotham's most reviled and hunted vigilante and murderer.

The man had saved Jim's family. And although his and Barbara's marriage was strained after his stint as a dead man and the kids still had nightmares about the night Dent kidnapped them, they were coping. They had each other to hold onto.

Batman had saved Jim's life more than once. He had rid Gotham of two of the most dangerous criminals the city had ever seen and helped clean the streets of mob bosses, drug lords, and petty criminals. And now Gotham's Police Commissioner was too afraid to help the Dark Knight because he wasn't wearing his bat suit anymore? Jim turned suddenly, pushed his glasses back in place, and made his way back towards Wayne. The young man deserved a helping hand, and not just because Jim had been too blind and afraid to take a closer look. Today was the day to repay his debts. Today was the day to give something back to the man who'd lost everything.


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter 6**

Jim knelt down in front of Wayne as he'd done so many years ago. The younger man's eyes were still closed. Had he fallen asleep? Now that he'd made up his mind, Jim didn't want to waste any more time. He called the billionaire's name.

"Mr. Wayne?"

No response. He tried again, this time a little louder.

"Mr. Wayne!"

Again, no reaction. Jim didn't dare touch him; he knew what strength this imposing body possessed, even in a weakened state.

"Batman?"

Still nothing, but Wayne's breathing had hitched for a second.

_Easy, Jim_, he reprimanded himself. Who knew where the young man's thoughts had wondered in the long minutes of silence. Jim sighed and decided to try another angle. _To hell with decency, _he thought. He'd known Wayne since he was a kid, hadn't he?

"Bruce!"

Wayne's eyes snapped open immediately and narrowed suspiciously when his gaze fell on Jim who slowly sat back onto his heels.

"Sorry about that," Jim said quietly. "I was worried, and you didn't react to anything else."

Wayne thought about that for a few seconds and shook his head.

"No, it's okay. It's just… no one has called me that since…since…" He stumbled over the words and tried again. "…since Rachel died."

"I'm sorry," Jim repeated. "I shouldn't have…"

Wayne interrupted him.

"No, really, it's okay."

Jim nodded.

"Well, then...How about you call me Jim?"

Wayne merely quirked an eyebrow.

"Sounds better than Commissioner or Gordon," Jim continued. "We've known each other long enough, don't you think?"

This time his sentiment was answered by a tired half-smile and a nod.

"I guess you could say that," Bruce agreed, adding almost as an afterthought, "What are you doing here?"

Jim was speechless for a few seconds.

"You don't remember?" he asked incredulously.

Bruce thought about it for a moment before replying. "I remember Alfred making a fuss over me and storming off in the middle of the night. Half an hour later he's back here with you in tow. I told him I was fine."

Now it was Jim's turn to raise an eyebrow.

"Have you looked in a mirror lately?"

"Don't intend to for at least another week" came the dry reply. "Why?"

Jim couldn't belief his ears. _Half dead_ _Batman with a sense of humor, just great_, he thought. This was, however, much better than anything else Jim had seen or heard tonight. He made a mental note to congratulate Alfred on raising this unpredictable young man.

He rose to his feet gradually (he was getting too damned old to be hanging around on the floor) and fetched the chair in which Alfred had sat earlier. Bruce smirked when Jim lowered himself into it. Despite the fact that he should feel offended, Jim was happy to see Wayne's reaction. He didn't know how he'd done it, but at least Bruce was talking again; and his eyes didn't have that totally lost look any more. They had regained a certain brightness and alertness Jim was used to seeing in Batman's eyes. And he could have sworn they had changed from almost black to hazel in mere seconds.

They sat in silence for a while, Jim in his chair, Bruce still on the floor but much straighter and relaxed than before. He was staring into space again but didn't appear so closed off, merely deep in thoughts this time. Jim allowed himself to relax, too, using the time to re-live the night's events. Somewhere hidden in all the extremes he had witnessed this evening was the real Bruce Wayne. He had every intention of getting to know the young man better and help him through this darkest of times.


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter 7**

When Jim tried to change his uncomfortable position in the hard chair, his foot hit the object Bruce had sent flying across the room earlier. He bent down and picked it up. It looked like the Batman version of a cell phone, and he held it aloft for Bruce to see.

"What is it?" he asked, studying the little thing in his hand curiously.

Bruce squinted his eyes and thoughtfully answered the question while slowly rising to his feet.

"It was…It _is_ for you," he corrected himself.

Jim just stared.

"I wanted to give it to you the day you…_died_," the younger man continued. "In case you ever needed to contact me."

Jim almost dropped the cell, managing to regain control over his fingers only at the very last moment. He held Bruce's gaze and shivered a little when he realized that the eyes had gone black again and were totally focused on him. _Uh-oh, this isn't good,_ he thought, and mentally slapped himself for not thinking about this sooner. Batman was human. Of course he would have been devastated by the death of his only ally and friend. But before Jim could open his mouth to apologize, Bruce started pacing, sudden anger visible in his every movement.

"Did you know I was about to turn myself in?" he asked. He glared at Jim but didn't wait for a reply. "I destroyed what evidence there was and went to the press conference where Batman was supposed to get arrested."

Jim didn't know what to say to that, and Bruce obviously wasn't expecting an answer. He continued, his voice drifting towards Batman's usual growl.

"If Dent had waited just a second longer, I would have said the words, and no one could have saved me. Not from prison and not from the wrath of the Joker. So I guess I owe Dent my life. Isn't that pathetic?"

He laughed a hollow laugh that made Jim's heart ache. He didn't know how to answer so he blurted out the first thing that came to his mind.

"Did you know that your eyes change color every time you change personae?"

This stopped Bruce dead in his tracks. Jim could almost see his jaw drop to the floor.

"Excuse me?"

Bruce looked ridiculous in his surprise; Jim just had to laugh – which did nothing, of course, to placate Bruce who clenched his fists. Jim caught his breath and tried again.

"I'm sorry, but it's true. The part of you everyone in this city seems to know has light brown eyes with a little touch of green in them; Bruce Wayne's are a darker brown, and Batman's are almost black."

_See what happens when you spend too much time with a man in a mask, _Jim mused. _All you pay attention to are his eyes…_

The younger man looked at him as if he'd lost his mind and shook his head.

"You're kidding me." His voice was almost back to normal.

"Am not. You want me to get a mirror?"

_Ouch, not the mirror topic again…_

"No, thank you." Bruce turned away. "We're so not having this conversation."

But he couldn't quite hide the amusement in his voice.

"Right. Sorry," Jim backpedaled quickly. "It's just one of the things that makes your disguise so effective, I think. No one who has ever seen you in real life would connect you to Batman because his stare is so much darker and totally different from Bruce Wayne's. At least that's part of the reason why I never guessed."

That earned him a thoughtful look and Jim could almost see the other man's minds racing.

"Just thought you'd like to know," he added lamely.

Bruce finally nodded. "Thanks." And then he startled Jim by breaking into a wide grin. "I guess I never allowed anyone to stick around long enough to notice," he chuckled. It was the first genuine smile Jim had ever seen on the billionaire's face.

Bruce motioned for him to come closer. The man seemed to be able to change his mood as quickly as he switched characters. "Come here. I want to show you how it works."

Jim had forgotten that he was still holding the small phone in his hand and quickly went over to where Bruce stood in front of a workbench. There lay a second device, very similar to his own. Jim looked at it questioningly. Bruce reached over and showed him which buttons to press. It was a simple system: button #1 for Batman (the cell on the table started vibrating the moment Jim pushed the button), #2 to cancel the call (the other phone stopped vibrating immediately), and #3 for absolute emergencies only (Batman's cell started a series of annoying shrieks and whistles). _Ow._ He tried not to flinch as he hastily pushed button #2.

_Remember, Jim, emergencies only…_

"What's #4?" Jim asked when he felt the tiny button hidden in the back.

"Don't press that!" Bruce snatched the phone away from him. "It's the self destruct."

Jim's mouth formed a silent "oh."

"Should I throw it away and duck in case I ever have to use it or what?" he asked when he'd recovered from his astonishment.

Bruce seemed unperturbed.

"No," he said. "Just drop it into a trash can or something. It will melt and evaporate."

"If you say so," Jim sighed and pocketed the phone. "Thanks. I'll just try to avoid using #3 and 4, don't you think?"

Bruce gave him one of his rare smiles. It made him look at least five years younger.


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter 8**

Jim decided to seize the opportunity and use Bruce's current good mood.

"May I ask you something?" he asked.

The younger man looked at him questioningly but nodded, and Jim voiced his thoughts before he could change his mind.

"Who really did burn down Wayne Manor? Alfred…uh…he mentioned it wasn't you."

To Jim's surprise, Bruce didn't glare. A little of his former weariness crept back into his eyes. "Ra's al Ghul," he eventually answered. "Also known as Henry Ducard; the same criminal who was responsible for the toxin incident in the Narrows."

It was Jim's turn to stare. _Seem to be doing that a lot lately_, he berated himself and asked, "How did he know? I mean, he did know about Batman, didn't he?"

Bruce sighed. "Yes, he knew. He knew me from before." The younger man looked clearly uncomfortable. "He was my teacher. I met him on my travels when you and everyone else in Gotham believed me to be dead. He taught me how to use my anger, how to control my strength."

_One mystery solved, _Jim thought. He continued to listen intently to Batman's story.

"He taught me a lot of things about men, about life and death," Bruce continued. "He became my mentor for a while, but in the end he tried to turn me into a ruthless murderer in order to enforce his so-called justice. I turned against him and had no choice but to fight him. I accidentally burned down the monastery where his mercenaries were trained. I thought he had died in the flames – until he appeared at my party and threatened to burn down my house in revenge. He allowed me to send everyone away before he set the house on fire and tried to kill me." He paused and looked at Jim. "Of course I couldn't tell the police the truth, so the next day the papers printed the story that drunken billionaire Bruce Wayne had burned down his own house after throwing out his guests."

He gave Jim a sad half-smile and turned away, busying himself with some device on the workbench that Jim couldn't see behind his back.

_Oh, hell_, thought Jim._ Has there ever been anything easy in his life? No wonder he hides behind those fake smiles and expensive suits, the flashy cars and gadgets a billionaire is expected to possess. He's not allowed to show what he really cares about because he might loose it again – just like everything else that's ever been important in his life has vanished._

His thoughts were interrupted when Wayne turned back to face him, his expression angry expression.

"Don't," he warned.

"What?" Jim had no idea what the man was talking about.

"I don't want your pity," Bruce clarified. "What's done is done."

Damn, he'd forgotten how good Batman was at reading faces.

"So you're rebuilding Wayne Manor?" he asked, opting for ignorance rather than give a reply to Bruce's statement.

A curious look flickered over Bruce's face.

"Yes," he replied. "Just as it was. It's funny, actually…I once told Alfred I hated that house and would love to tear it down, brick by brick, because it reminded me of a mausoleum. And then it was suddenly gone, and I was ashamed of myself. Alfred reminded me that the Wayne legacy is more than bricks and mortar, but I won't feel like a real Wayne again until it's finished. Silly, don't you think?"

Jim shook his head. "I think it's normal to want a home; a place where you can be yourself and remember those who went before you. When will it be finished?"

Bruce sent him a thoughtful look in return.

"Some time next year, I hope. Remind me to invite you to the party."

Jim shot him a fake angry glare.

"Are you trying to kill me? I hate parties."

Bruce just chuckled.

"Good. Me too."

Jim couldn't believe it. _T__his from the man who throws a party at least once a week,_ he thought.

"And how exactly are you going to explain the presence of a simple cop to your rich guests?" he challenged and immediately regretted it when Wayne grew serious again.

"You're not a simple cop. You're the Commissioner. And in any case, what's wrong with inviting a friend to a party?"

Jim could see that the younger man knew exactly what he'd said. It made him proud, but it also scared the hell out of him. What had he done to deserve this extraordinary man's trust?

"Why me?" he asked for the second time this night, adding, "You don't even know me!"

"Yes, I do," came the calm reply. "I've seen you at work, I've seen you with your family; and I've never forgotten the night we met. What else is there to know about a man?"

There was no answer to that, so Jim didn't even try to come up with one.

Suddenly he noticed another change in Bruce's appearance, mainly by the way the man stood on one leg, trying not to put too much weight onto his left side. _This man is as stubborn as a mule_, he thought. Out loud he said, "Maybe you should sit down."

"Don't you turn all Alfred on me," Bruce warned. At first he seemed annoyed, but then there was a slight twinkle in his eyes which suggested he wasn't really angry. "I'm fine."

Jim snorted in disbelief. "I can see that," he replied.

The look of annoyance returned. "I've had worse."

Jim sighed. He doubted that.

At last seeing the worried look on Jim's face, Bruce surrendered. "You're probably right. I should at least try not to open the stitches again before Alfred has had a chance to take a look at them." He grinned impishly. "Wouldn't want to give him another opportunity to lecture me about the importance of wound healing, would we?"

Jim couldn't help himself. He grinned back as he watched Bruce sink carefully back to the floor.

"What's with the floor?" he asked, taking his previous seat. "Do you hate chairs?"

Bruce merely smiled. "Of course not. How would I survive any of those boring board meetings at Wayne Enterprises? I just like to be able to stretch my legs or change my position without worrying about falling from my seat."

Jim didn't know whether to believe him or not and raised a questioning eyebrow.

Wayne winked and continued with a shrug, "There were no chairs in the monastery. I guess I just got used to sitting on the floor."

Jim regarded him carefully.

The man sitting in front of him was a contradiction in terms: at one moment ready to jump at Jim and bite his head off, the next sitting on the floor and making funny jokes; wearing fancy Armani suits by day and a heavy body armor by night; presenting a smiling mask in public and being the most earnest and the darkest character imagineable when patrolling the city by night. Suddenly a question that had stirred at the back of Jim's mind for as long as he'd known Batman surfaced.

"Why bats?" he asked into the stretching silence.

Bruce squinted up at him. "What's this? Commissioner Gordon's version of Twenty Questions?" he asked.

Jim squirmed a little under the searching gaze. Then he nodded.

"Well, it seems only fair that you tell me at least something about Batman. It's not as if I've had a lot of opportunities to talk to him. I also bet you've read my file and already know everything there is to know about me, so you don't have to ask me anything."

Bruce neither confirmed nor denied the accusation, but a sudden interest in his fingernails was answer enough. Jim decided he didn't want to know how the man had done it.

"So, if you don't mind…" he suggested.

Bruce remained silent. Jim thought he wouldn't answer when suddenly, he spoke up.

"Bats frighten me," he said

Jim couldn't believe his ears.

"Then why did you choose them as your symbol? And why exactly are you frightened of bats? They are funny little creatures…" He broke off when he saw Bruce's intense face. "What did I say?" he asked hastily.

Bruce sighed.

"When I was a kid, I fell into a well on our estate. I couldn't climb out and had to wait for help in the dark. Suddenly, a swarm of bats came out of an opening in the wall next to my head. There were bats everywhere. I must have disturbed them by my fall. They didn't hurt me, but I've been scared of bats ever since. And why of all things did I choose to become Batman? Because in order to overcome my fear, I had to face it, conquer it, and use it for my own purpose. Bats are creatures of the night; hardly ever seen, yet terrifying and intimidating in the dark."

Jim nodded in understanding and suddenly had to laugh. "Did you know that Jimmy wouldn't stop nagging until I bought him pajamas with bats on them for his birthday? Barbara has to fight him everytime she wants to put them in the laundry."

Bruce's gaze seemed to intensify before his very eyes.

"Does Jimmy understand that you have to hunt me now?" he insistently asked.

Jim's face fell.

"If you mean, does he know that Batman's a wanted man? The answer is yes. But he doesn't understand, not really. You're his hero. You saved his life."

Bruce sighed and answered, "You know how important it is that he doesn't talk about me anymore. I'm a hunted murderer, remember?"

"I know!" Jim shot back, more fiercely than intended, and Bruce looked at him with a question in his eyes. The memory of his son's tiny figure in the dark, calling after fleeing Batman, his savior, had haunted Jim ever since that terrible night in the burned-down warehouse. Jim shrugged the unwelcome image off and continued, "It's always difficult to understand events which don't make any sense – when right suddenly becomes wrong and turns our world upside down."

Something in Bruce's face suddenly changed, and he whispered, "Rachel…"

Jim didn't understand the segue.

"What do you mean? What about Rachel?" he asked

Bruce avoided his gaze. "She didn't understand," he finally said. "She couldn't deal with the fact that I have to lead a double life to fulfill my task. She knew about Batman."

And then Jim understood a lot more than Bruce had meant for him to. He could also see the direction in which Bruce's thoughts were headed, drawing him back into some darker part of his soul, shutting out everything else.

"Don't you dare go there!" he almost yelled at the younger man. "It wasn't your fault." Dark eyes focused on him.

"How can you say that?" Bruce hissed. "I was too late. I couldn't save her. Even with all my wits and gadgets and Batman's toys, I couldn't protect her…"

Jim cut him off. "There was nothing you could have done! You know that. If you want to blame someone, blame me! I wasn't there when she went out into the streets. I wasn't there to catch the Joker in time – and I was too late to get her out of the warehouse." He swallowed. "I know it hurts. I don't pretend to understand how much you suffered these past days, but blaming yourself for Rachel's death doesn't bring her back. And I'm pretty sure she wouldn't want you to sit around all day and contemplate her death instead of being out there, fighting injustice!" And then it dawned on him. "You can't save everyone." Bruce's head shot up, his eyes narrowed dangerously. Jim ignored the unspoken threat. "Neither what happened to Rachel nor the death of your parents' was your fault. I think you already know that, but it's easier to feel sorry for yourself than to continue doing what you began, isn't it?"

"How dare you!"

Wayne slowly rose to his feet, fists clenched at his side. Jim didn't flinch, and a glimmer of reluctant respect lit up in the younger man's eyes. At least Jim had gotten Bruce's full attention now.

"I know how you feel. I understand why you've sat in this hole for three days and scared Alfred half to death. But I think it's time for you to get back onto your feet and face the world again. You should probably take it slow, seeing the extent of your injuries–" the younger man snorted. "—but you can't hide down here forever, Bruce!" The use of his name seemed to calm the other man a bit. "Believe me," Jim concluded, "I know what I'm talking about."

They stood only inches apart, staring at each other, and Jim felt his uneasiness growing. Batman wouldn't hit him, would he? _Of course not,_ Jim answered his own question. _He's just an angry, confused young man who needs someone to set him straight._

After what felt like minutes to Jim, Bruce nodded, a small smile appearing on his strained face. "You sound just like Alfred," he stated.

Jim shot him a half-angry glare. That was all he had to say after this outburst? He shook his head, but his shoulders relaxed and he returned the smile. "I'll take that as a compliment," he replied which elicited a soft chuckle from Bruce.

Both men quickly grew serious, and the younger one looked at Jim with softened eyes.

"It wasn't your fault either, you know," Bruce said. "The Joker set us up. There was no way we could have saved them both. He switched the addresses on purpose to break us, to break Dent, in case he survived."

Jim nodded. "I know, but that doesn't make it any easier."

Bruce sighed and turned away. "No, it doesn't. And that's why I've been sitting here for three days, thinking about giving up my _career_…"

He almost spat the last word.


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter 9**

Jim cringed. _Here we go again,_ he thought, mentally preparing for another battle with the stubborn, yet desperate young man. He'd known since Bruce had started talking again that there was at least one topic they wouldn't be able to avoid that night: Harvey Dent and the sacrifices Batman had had to make. Jim now had to convince Bruce not to give up but to continue his fight for justice and a better world for the people in this city to live in. But how?

"Say again?" he asked, eyebrows knitted together in growing anger and worry.

Bruce glared at him. "You heard me well enough," he grumbled. "I'm thinking it's time for Batman to retire. All those people died because of me, Gordon!"

Jim looked up in surprise at the name with which Batman usually addressed him. So who was he talking to now – Bruce or Batman? This two (or was it three?) personae thing certainly didn't help. How much of what Jim saw was Bruce Wayne, how much of Batman was real, and which parts of his other characters were just an act?

He sighed, feeling suddenly very tired. He hadn't asked for any of this – and yet, here he was, still trying to talk some sense into the man. Obviously, his previous speech hadn't been good enough. _I really suck at pep talks,_ he thought. And then he exploded.

"They did _not_ die because of you!" Jim yelled. Bruce broke from his reverie and had the decency to look slightly surprised. "They died because a madman was running free in this town, killing and burning wherever it pleased him. He used you, he used all of us, to create chaos and despair in this city!" Bruce looked as if he wanted to say something but Jim held up a hand to stop him. "The Joker's only goal was to satisfy his sick need for murder and to wreak havoc wherever he went. You saw him! He isn't like any other human being we've encountered before. He's nuts! That's why he's in Arkham right now, sedated and under guard so he can't hurt any more people."

Bruce tried to interrupt him but again, Jim wouldn't let him. "He tried to break you, but he couldn't because you're stronger than he is. You're a much better man, Bruce!" The younger man flinched. "The Joker wanted you to break your one rule, but you didn't. You almost died because you couldn't murder him. I was there, I saw it. I saved your life, goddammit! And now you want to throw everything we've been fighting for away? I don't think so."

Jim stared at Bruce, his own eyes narrowed. "If you're trying to tell me that you don't believe in anything we've done these past few days, I simply refuse to believe you. I know this week must have been one of the hardest of your entire life, and I'm truly sorry about Rachel. I wasn't able to save her." Jim swallowed hard, but this time Bruce didn't try to say anything, his eyes burning at the Commissioner. Jim prepared for his final argument – and the possibility of a blow coming his way.

"If you give up now, the Joker will win, and Rachel will have died for nothing."

And with that, Jim turned away. Bruce didn't try to stop him; he merely stared into space. But Jim knew the younger man had heard every word he'd said; his tense figure spoke volumes, and Jim didn't need to look at him to know the painful path Bruce's memory traveled right now.

Suddenly, Bruce spoke up behind him. "He didn't take the best of us."

Jim looked back at him in surprise and asked, "What do you mean?"

"He didn't take the best of us," Bruce repeated. "The night Dent died, you said the Joker took the best of us and tore him down. But you were wrong. _You're_ the best of us, Gordon. Dent became the Joker's puppet and tried to finish his sick game for him after Rachel's death. I wasn't strong enough either. I couldn't stop the Joker. But you, you were there. You arrested him and rescued me. You never gave up!"

Jim looked at him sternly and replied, "And you wanna know why?" He didn't give Bruce time to think about it but answered the question for him, "Because I knew I wasn't alone. Because I knew there was a friend in the shadows, watching over me and my family. Don't tell me you weren't there when Stephens and Ramirez went to my house to tell my wife that I was dead?"

Bruce's silence only served to confirm Jim's suspicions. He continued, "I couldn't have done all this on my own, you know. You helped me more times than I can count and probably more times than I'll ever know. You continued after Ducard burned down your home. You didn't back down when Reese threatened to reveal your identity. Instead, you saved his life!" Bruce watched the Commissioner warily. Jim shrugged, saying, "I never really believed you were trying to catch the light anyway." Jim didn't back down when Bruce smirked. He tried harder to bring his message home.

"You gave everything for this city but no one ever noticed. It was you who fought the Joker. I just came along and picked him up when he was already down. You fought Dent. You even let him shoot you in order to save me and my family! You let everyone believe Batman was a cold-blooded killer to maintain Dent's reputation – without any concerns about your own. And just for the record: I'm still not convinced that this was one of the brightest ideas you ever had…especially after tonight. So spare me the _you're-the-best-of-us crap_ and come to your senses. Gotham needs you."

An unspoken _I need you_ hung in the air, and Jim was sure Bruce felt it, too. Damn, when had he become so dependent on this man? But then, it wasn't such a bad feeling for Jim. He trusted Batman. _Bruce,_ he reminded himself. This would definitely need some getting used to.

"So?" Jim asked and looked at Bruce expectantly. "What do you say?"

The younger man's gaze seemed to say _don't push your luck_ but then, finally, he smiled. It was a small smile, but a genuine one.

"I say," Bruce replied carefully, "that I'm glad I'm not your son. I don't think I ever want to hear you shout at me again."

Jim must have looked like an idiot because Bruce started laughing so hard his entire body shook. He wasn't mad, was he?

His thought must have been etched on his face because Bruce shook his head in amusement and answered, "No, I'm not mad. It's just funny that no one has ever dared to yell at me before. Or maybe Alfred was just too sensitive to try. He hates loud noises."

Then Bruce grew serious again, and his hazel eyes shone with honest gratitude. "Thank you, Jim. You're right. The Joker mustn't win. Gotham needs Batman. And I think I still need Batman, too. I tried to convince myself that I didn't, but I was wrong. I still have work to do here."

They shared an understanding smile, and Jim allowed himself to relax for the very first time that night. Doubt and despair might haunt Bruce again some day but not as bad as this time, he hoped. The younger man had learned his lesson. And maybe Jim wasn't so bad at pep talks after all.

He took the opportunity and said what he'd wanted to tell Batman for a very long time now.

"Thank you."

"You don't have to thank me." It was almost Batman's growl. Almost.

"Yes, I do."

"No, you don't. I told you many years ago."

"I do, too. You saved my life, the lives of my wife and children. Hell, you saved this whole city more than once! I have to say thank you because I know you don't expect me to," Jim explained.

Bruce just glared at him. "This makes no sense."

Jim shrugged. "Yes, it does. Think about it."

This Batman did, and after a while he surprisingly nodded his agreement.

"You're welcome," he mumbled.

It was more than Jim would have ever hoped for. "Have you ever lost an argument before?" he couldn't refrain from asking mischievously.

"Constantly," Bruce replied, and Jim shot his new friend an incredulous look.

"You haven't seen Alfred lecturing me. Once he gets started, you can only hope to outrun him – or endure." Bruce grinned from ear to ear..

"I heard that."

Jim jumped and turned around just in time to see the elevator vanish into the ceiling. Alfred stood a few feet away from them, carrying a large bag of groceries.

"Where did you come from?" Jim managed to ask. "How long have you been standing there?"

The butler shrugged and nodded into his employer's direction.

"Ask _him_. He noticed me the moment I stepped onto the elevator."

_Of course he did._

The butler's eyes shone with relief. "And if I may say so, it's good to have you back, Master Wayne."

These words had an incredible effect on Batman: A red flush crept from his neck onto his face, and the sheepish look the young man gave his mentor would have been funny if the whole affair hadn't been deadly serious just a short time ago. Jim felt like an intruder, but he couldn't turn away while master and servant held one another's gaze.

Then the unbelievable happened: Bruce was the first to look away.

_Interesting,_ Jim thought. _These two have a lot to talk about when they get home tonight. _He was so deep in thought that he almost missed Bruce's whispered _thank you_.

Alfred simply nodded and made a slight bow. He raised the bag of groceries and smiled. "I hope you're hungry, sirs."

And indeed they were.


	10. Chapter 10 and Epilogue

**Chapter 10**

It felt unreal to be having breakfast with Batman and his butler. And breakfast it was. When they were finished, Jim glanced at his watch. Was it already half past five in the morning? Where had the night gone?

His worried frown didn't go unnoticed by his companions. Alfred offered to give him a ride home.

"Or would you prefer to ride with Master Bruce on his motorbike?" the butler asked with a playful twinkle in his blue eyes.

"Uh, thank you, Alfred, I think I'd better go with you," Jim replied. "If Bruce drives as he does with his super-bike…"

"Bat pod," Bruce offered innocently.

Jim ignored his comment and continued, "I'd prefer not to be on the back seat when he runs another red light. I'm still the Commissioner, you know."

Jim couldn't believe he'd actually said that, but the other two men laughed and stood up from the chairs that Bruce had miraculously produced from another hidden chamber in the floor.

Alfred packed away the leftovers from their meal and let the tables and all the equipment vanish into the floor while Bruce went to an inconspicuous part of the wall which turned out to be a garage door. Jim looked on in amazement when Bruce pushed a flaming red bike onto the elevator he'd summoned before.

"Visit me some time, and I'll give you the Grand Tour," Bruce offered. With a chuckle Jim indicated that he had every intention of following up on the invitation. "And don't forget the housewarming party next year. You simply _must_ attend," the billionaire stressed.

Jim rolled his eyes. "How could I forget?" he asked, laughing out loud.

Bruce grinned, and they shook hands before the younger man gingerly climbed onto his motorbike. His eyes were bright despite the pain, an appealing sparkle of humor in them, and most of the previous tension and despair were visibly gone. The contrast to the listless and angry man Jim had encountered in the middle of the night was astounding.

_I bet Alfred's first mission when he comes home will be to take a look at these wounds,_ Jim thought and sighed. _Bruce was lucky that Dent's bullet or the fall hadn't killed him. _He could only hope that Bruce's luck would hold for many more years.

As the elevator carried them to the surface, the room disappearing beneath them darkened and the lights went out automatically. Jim didn't have to wear a blindfold this time (he'd left it on one of the work tables anyway), but Alfred kindly asked him to close his eyes until they were a few blocks away from their start. Jim complied, and they exited the elevator car. He could hear Bruce take off on his motorcycle as Alfred led Jim to the car and helped him sit down.

During the drive through the waking city, the two men shared an amicable silence until Alfred stopped in front of Jim's house. Before Jim could even try to exit the car on his own, the butler had come around and already held the door for him.

Jim shook his head inwardly and climbed out of the comfortable vehicle.

"Thank you, Alfred," he said and smiled at the elderly butler.

"No, sir," Alfred smiled back at him. "I must thank you."

Unspoken understanding passed between them and finally Jim nodded.

"It's been an honor," he told Alfred. He could see that the butler took the sentiment for what it was – an honest offer of friendship and respect for a young man about whom they both cared deeply.

They bade each other good night. As Alfred drove off, Jim inserted his key into the door of his family's house. The night's events seemed quite surreal to him now that he was back at his own home.

He knew, he'd never see Bruce like this again – vulnerable, out of his depth, lost in sorrow. Their next meeting would definitely be different, but he was looking forward to it. Because under all the masks Bruce wore, both as Batman and the billionaire playboy he portrayed in public, there was a fine young man hiding underneath – with a wicked sense of humor.

Jim chuckled and opened his door, entering the dark building still lost in deep thought. _Did I ever want to know so much about Batman? Probably not. I was curious, yes, but I would never have tried to really find the man behind the mask. But I'm also glad. This night wasn't about me but about an unusual young man who simply needed a friend he could talk to; someone who had had similar experiences in life and would understand without judgment. _He closed the door behind him, tossed his keys onto the sideboard, and quietly made his way through the half-light, trying not to disturb his sleeping family. _And if he can live with all he's been through, then so can I, having seen just small parts of it._

He stopped in mid-stride when his gaze fell upon the tiny dark figure sitting in the hall, slumped against the wall and snoring gently.

"Jimmy!"

Jim rushed to his son's side. The boy slowly opened his eyes and squinted up at his father.

"Hey, Dad," he murmured. "Is Batman okay?"

Jim looked at him in surprise and Jimmy said, "A very nice man with a funny voice called Mom a few hours ago and said we shouldn't worry, you were helping a friend and would be back in the morning." The boy grinned smugly. "And since you don't have many friends you'd would have to meet at night, I figured it had to be Batman."

_Alfred..., _Jim thought and nodded in defeat. "Yes, I was with Batman, and yes, he's fine. Or rather, he will be. We had some things to talk about," he explained.

Jimmy obviously didn't understand but he nodded solemnly. "That's good," he mumbled and drifted back to sleep.

Jim picked up his sleeping son. Reminding Jimmy not to talk about Batman would have to wait until later. He carefully carried the boy upstairs to his room and put him to bed, smiling when the light from the bedside lamp fell on Jimmy's sleeping figure, his pajamas printed with bats in all shapes and sizes.

_Oh Bruce, you'll always have a fan in him_, he thought. Then he went to look after his sleeping daughter and his wife. Jim knew, he could never in his life settle his debt with Gotham's Dark Knight.

* * *

**Epilogue**

When Bruce went to bed that day, he found a note attached to his cell phone. There was only one person who could have stuck it there. Curious, he unfolded it. It bore a simple message in Jim's tiny cop scrawl.

W_e're still two._

And Batman smiled.

Dawn was coming.

* * *

**The End**


End file.
